Duck Lake the grass is growing on top of my feet

Cole regarded her for a moment, his gaze steady, taking in the weight of her decision. Alrigh’t then, he said, his voice even, calm, yet carrying a finality that left no room for uncertainty. His eyes lingered on her, as if committing her name—her choice—to memory. Forsythia. It suited her, he thought, bright yet resilient, a name that spoke of something more.

You’ve got courage, takin’ steps like this. It’ll serve you well, he added, a rare note of approval threading through his tone. His expression remained stoic, but there was something in his posture that hinted at respect, a recognition of her effort to stand tall.

Goodbye, Forsythia, he said simply, turning away with the quiet confidence of someone who knew the wilds better than himself. The snow and shadows seemed to embrace him as he moved, his steps sure and deliberate. He disappeared into the trees, leaving her to the quiet, his presence already fading into the vast expanse of the wild.